


waiting for the fall

by WilderMind



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Eventual Smut, F/M, Implied/Referenced Mind Control, Original Character(s), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-04-29 11:03:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14471283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WilderMind/pseuds/WilderMind
Summary: "It's not the fall,falling doesn't hurt.It's when you stop."Cara has always been alone. That's the first thing people will tell you.She's also always been reckless, impulsive, self-destructive, with a love of broken things and tragedies. That's the second thing they'll say. So when she finds a man, damaged, dangerous, and alone in the world, it's no surprise to any one that her first instinct is to help him.And so, just like that, she falls into Bucky Barnes' life, changing it forever.But she brings her own past, her own ghosts, and slowly, Bucky begins to realize that there may be more to Cara than meets the eye. That beneath the surface, she might be just as broken as him.And here's the thing about broken things and tragedies.Once the clock has started, and the time bomb begins to tick, it does not take much to fall.





	1. new mission

**[April 11th, 2014]**  
**[One Week After the Fall of S.H.I.E.L.D.]**

**BUCKY BARNES** remembered falling to his death.

That was, quite possibly, the only thing he could say he remembered for certain.

He remembered the cold metal in his hand, the sudden drop from the train car, the wind whistling and biting at him. He remembered screaming, before the sound was torn from his lungs.

After that?

Nothing.

An emptiness as blank and cold the snow that had fallen with him.

There were emotions, yes. Fear, mostly. Sadness, sometimes. Loneliness, although he hadn't had a name for it then. And there were other things. Pain. Cold. A heaviness in his chest that never went away.

Yet here he was, staring at his own face, on a wall that called him a hero. It wasn't like a mirror. He didn't recognize the man on the wall. But it was him. It had his name. James. James Buchanan Barnes. People called him Bucky. Here he was in a museum that held relics of the past. It had his life story, written out, in bold letters, up until that fall. And that was all he could remember.

All he could remember was the fall.

Minutes passed, and still he stood there. He knew he made a sight, that people were beginning to notice him. He towered above most people here, and he could tell he was making security nervous. The exhibit was crowded today, the recent fall of SHIELD, and Captain America's involvement had sparked more attention. The security guards were watching him, suspiciously, but it was clear they weren't planning on doing anything yet.Picking up his bag, he turned away, head down, shoulders hunched. There was a dull pain that kept radiating down his arm and back. He knew that he hadn't quite recovered from the fight on the Potomac. He hoped he could get somewhere relatively safe, somewhere he could rest for a few days, if just to heal. Heal and process everything he just read.

James. Bucky. Sergeant.

That was his name.

He had a name, and his name was Bucky.

He had a family, but they were dead.

He had a life before, but it had ended.

His head was beginning to pulse, with each thought, and he reached up to press his palm against his forehead, stumbling forward.

Maybe that's why he didn't notice the woman, not until he was walking right into her. He was dazed enough to knock them both off balance. He flinched, and barely manage to catch her before she fell to the ground. Her hand latched onto his arm. His hands landed on her waist, pulling her upright. A bag landed with a thump on the ground. She turned her gaze up to him, her eyes wide and green.

"I-" he began. The words died on his lips. "I..."

"I'm sorry," she said, and she had the vaguest of accents he couldn't quite place. There was also a lightness to her voice that he hadn't heard in a long time. Not a happiness, and not an innocence, but she spoke without fear, or hatred, or cruelty.

"It's okay," he said, finally finding his voice. He knelt down to pick up her bag. She knelt down beside him, gathering up papers, and loose change. "I was- I was lost in thought. It was my fault."

Her wallet had fallen out. Reaching for it, he saw her driver's license, with her picture smiling up at him.

"Cara Fox," he read out loud. She looked up at him, brushing her hair back out of her eyes.

"That's me," she said, with a small smile. He handed it to her, and stood up, watching her do the same. He straightened the glove on his left hand, wondering if she felt the cool metal beneath the fabric. "I really am sorry..."

She trailed off, and it took him a second to realize she was waiting for his name. His eyes darted over to the picture of himself on the wall.

_James Buchanan Barnes._

_The only Howling Commando to give his life-_

She didn't seem to notice, either the glance or the picture on the wall.

"Bucky," he said. It had felt foreign before. It still did. But it was the only name that he knew he could say. "My name is Bucky."

"Bucky," she said. "You're not from here, are you?"

He shook his head, knowing he shouldn't give her any more information than he already was. "No. You're not either, are you?"

She laughed. "No. No, I moved here a few months ago, but I can never stay in one place for long. I just realized that I had never been to the Smithsonian, and I wanted to come see what all the fuss was about."

"I understand that," he said. He looked back at the floor.She tilted her head slightly, looking at him curiously. "Are you a vet? From the VA?"

He paused a moment. "Yes," he said.  _Technically speaking, yes, he was a vet_.

"Just get back?"

He nodded again. "A few days ago."

A few days ago, he had left a man who was supposedly his long lost best friend on the shores of the Potomac.

A few days ago, he had gone to the remains of the HYDRA base, and found everything he could. Every file they had on him. Who he was, what they did to him, what he did to others. He had nearly killed everyone in that base. He should have done it.A few days ago, he had stolen a backpack, stolen some clothes, and hid in a homeless shelter. And then, because he needed to see it for himself, needed to know what everyone else did, he came here, to the museum.

"You have that look in your eye," she said. "My father, he was a doctor. He just retired a year or two ago. Worked with soldiers a lot. I grew up on one base or another. I know that look."

He didn't say anything. His attention turned to the floor. A pattern swirled around on the carpet.

."You're home now, Bucky," she said, placing a hand on his arm. He flinched, and she dropped it away quickly. She paused another moment, before reaching into her bag and taking out a piece of paper. She scribbled something on it. "I volunteer sometimes. With the VA. If you need me to find someone for you to talk to, I can do that."

"I don't think..." he said. "I mean. I don't think that would help me."

"Well, you never know," she said, before her phone buzzed once. She glanced down at it, and back up at him. "I have to go. But it was nice meeting you, Bucky."

"Nice meeting you, Cara," he said. Putting the piece of paper in his hand, she gave him another smile. It was an honest one. There was no ill intent behind it. But he knew that she felt sorry for him, she sensed that something bad had happened to him. His shoulder ached, and his head began to pulse again. She turned and walked away, glancing over her shoulder once, and waving at him.

It took him a second, staring after her, before he lifted his hand, but it was too late. She was already looking away, heading towards the exit.

Bucky looked down at the paper in his hand. Her name was scrawled on it, along with her number. Putting it into his pocket, he gave one final look at the picture on his wall, before turning, and disappearing into the crowd.

Just like a ghost. Just like a dead man should.

* * *

 

**CARA FOX** was not who she said she was.

She was, first and foremost, a liar.

Truth was a foreign concept to her. Her name was not even her name.

She had gone by Cara Fletcher for years, and had chosen the name Fox, only a few days ago, when everyone's alias went online for the world to see.

She knew how to dress to get the right sort of attention, from the right sort of people. She knew how walk, how to talk, how to make herself a thousand different people. It was a matter of survival, really.

Because, Cara was a spy. She had been for almost ten years now, and she had spent that time slowly making her way through the ranks of S.H.I.E.L.D.

And when she had run into the man at the Smithsonian, he saw what he wanted to see. She hadn't been sure about what that was until she had seen him, staring at his own photo on the wall. He had looked horrified, and lost, and worst of all, like he was in mourning. He looked human.

It hadn't been the first time she had seen him. No, she had seen the Winter Soldier before.

It was not a day she could easily forget, because it had been the day that S.H.I.E.L.D. had fallen. The day when everything had changed. She had just finished a mission, when none other than Natasha Romanoff had called her.

"Cara," she had said. There had been no introduction. "Are you in D.C.?"

Cara had blinked, looking up from the report she was currently writing from her hotel room. "Yes," she said. "Just got back from the base in New Mexico. One of the teams picked up some artifacts, and I was asked to transport it."

"You need to leave. You need to get out of town," she said. "I called everyone I can trust already. No one is answering me. Barton, Carter, Shaw, May. Please. Please, I have to save one person."

"Nat, what's happening?" she said, closing her computer, and leaning forward.

"S.H.I.E.L.D.'s going down. It's been infiltrated by HYDRA," Natasha said. "It has been since the beginning."

"That's..." Cara said. She stood up, and began to pace. "That's not possible. HYDRA's been gone for years. It died with the Red Skull. Everyone knows that."

" _Everyone was wrong,_ " she said. "They've been growing inside S.H.I.E.L.D. like a parasite." She was switching between Russian and English. It was the first time Cara heard anything even remotely similar to panic in her voice.

"Cara, please," she said. "Get out of there. Change your name, get what you can, and run. We're taking it all down. S.H.I.E.L.D., HYDRA, everything. Everyone's aliases, locations, accounts, they're going to go online."

"I have accounts off the grid," she said.

"Good," Natasha said. "Grab what you need, and run.""Where are you?" Cara said. "I can help."

"Cara,  _you don't get it,_ " Natasha said, and Cara heard the fierce urgency in her voice. "No one is going to be watching the prisons. Knowing HYDRA, they'll free everyone in them to cause that much more of a problem for us... And with your information online, Cara,  _they_  can find you. Everyone we put away will know where you are.  _Everyone_."

Cara ran a hand over her face at that. She remembered how her blood had run cold. "Shit."

"Understatement," Natasha said. "Listen. I'm not going to lie. A lot of weird shit's been happening, and i don't understand a lot of it. Rogers' best friend is back from the grave, I met a man with mechanical wings, not to mention all the artifacts, and the Thor incident a few months ago-"

"What?" Cara said.

"I met a man with wings," Natasha said. "His name is Sam, and he's very nice. Made us breakfast. I can see why Steve trusts him, he just sort of radiates-"

"No, who's back from the dead?" she said. "Although, we're going to have to talk about your crush on this man with wings later."

"James Barnes is back from the dead. Bucky. And get this, he's the Winter Soldier," Natasha said, ignoring Cara's last comment.

"The Winter Soldier is a ghost story they tell new recruits to scare them," she said."Everybody knows that."

"Well, that ghost story shot me," she said. "Twice, I might add." There was an underlying satisfaction, a " _I was right_ " tone dancing in her voice.

"Natasha-"

"Listen, Cara," she said. "After everything dies down, I'll tell you everything. We'll have a party, or something. Invite anyone who lives through this. But right now, you have to leave."

"Natasha, please," Cara said. "There has to be something I can do to help."

"You can help by living through this," she said. "By not letting yourself die for nothing."

"What should I do?" she said, trying to keep her voice steady. Her hand found the back of the chair, and her fingers turned white. "I've... I've never known anything else other than this. Tell me what to do, Natasha."

"You run," Natasha said. "You run as fast as you can, and you do what spies do best. You lie."

The phone clicked.

Walking over to the window, she wrapped her arms around herself,  trying to process what Natasha had told her. S.H.I.E.L.D. was going to fall. Innocent people were going  _die_. Everyone's covers would be blown. Everything she had ever accomplished was going to be destroyed. Gone, erased, like it never mattered. Her friend, a former teammate, was rushing into the mess. And Cara's best chance of surviving this was to turn her back on it all.

Cara looked down at the table, where her laptop was. A gun sat beside it. Picking it up, she checked to see if it was loaded. It was, of course it was. So, she did the only thing she could. She packed her bags, checked out of the hotel, loaded up her car, and drove straight to the Triskelion. (Breaking several laws, and nearly causing more than few crashes in the process.)

Cara wasn't exactly the best at doing things that ensured her survival.

The roads were closed when she got closer, forcing her to pull over. There was a walk down to the shores of the Potomac, where she could at least see what was happening. She had just made it to the edge of the water when she heard the explosion, and saw the ships begin to fall out of the sky.

Wrapping her coat tighter around herself, she watched as each of the three ships fell from the sky.

"Natasha, this better be what you were trying to do," she said.That's when she saw the body fall from the final ship. He was wearing a blue uniform. She knew who he was. Everyone knew who he was.Captain America was falling.

She rushed forward, managing to make it a step or two into the water, before she saw the second person. It was obvious he jumped, his descent different more controlled. More directed, more controlled. She stepped back in to the edge of the forest, watching as the man slowly came to shore. He was dragging Captain America behind him, limping.She knew who he was. She had heard the agents whisper about him for years. He was the Winter Soldier, and he was real. He didn't see her.

He was real.

Leaving Captain America on the side of the beach, he turned away. Cara watched him. He was younger than she thought he would be. 30 at the very most. He didn't look like someone who had killed more people than she could count. He looked... sad. Tired. Like all the older agents, men and women who had seen more than their fair share. She knew that look, all too well.

He wandered off, into the forest near her. He didn't see her, didn't notice her in her hiding place. There was something else about him, something old, and dangerous. He moved like a wounded animal, ready to do anything to survive. And under that, he looked scared.

She waited until he was gone before she  took a deep breath, running to the side of Captain America. He looked like shit, bloody and bruised. Kneeling at his side, she checked for a pulse, and found one, beating weakly. As she dialed 911, she saw his eyes open slightly.

"Captain," she said. "Captain. Can you hear me? My name is Agent Fletcher. I met you once, and I've worked with the Black Widow before."

He coughed up water, as he tried to sit up.

"Don't do that," she said. "You're hurt. You'll make it worse."

"My friend..." he started.

"Dragged you out of the river," she said. "He saved your life."

"You... you have to find him," he said. "Please, you have to find him."

"Shh," she said. "Let's worry about you for right now."

Someone finally answered the phone. She told them where she was, but even as she did, she thought about the look on the Winter Soldier's face. Something so lost, so human. He had pulled Captain America from the river. There was still a good man in there somewhere. And people would be hunting him.

"He was my friend," Captain America said. "He's still in there. Bucky's still in there."

"I saw him. I saw his face. I believe you."

"Please," he said, and he grabbed her arm. "I can't do it now. This is an order. Find him, and keep them away from him."

She froze. S.H.I.E.LD. was gone. She didn't have to follow orders anymore. There was no more clearance levels, or superior officers. But she knew Captain America,  _Steve Rogers_ , would no be ordering her to do this if he had any other choice.

"Don't worry, Captain," she said. She wasn't even sure he could hear her anymore.His had loosened on her arm, and his eyes slowly fluttered shut. "I'll find him. I promise, I'll find him. I won't let anyone hurt him."

Maybe it was cowardice. Maybe it was the fear of being left without orders, for the first time in almost a decade. Maybe she need something, some goal to hold onto, to guide her. Some purpose in the new world she found herself in. But that day, the day S.H.I.E.L.D. fell, Cara found something in the Captain's words, in Natasha's words.

The day Cara Fletcher died, and Cara Fox was born, she found a new mission.  She was going to lie, just like she always did. She was going to find Bucky Barnes. And she was going to protect the Winter Soldier.


	2. haunted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Did you really think you could run from this?"
> 
> or; Bucky finds someone he should not have seen again, while old enemies stir in the shadows.

Bucky had decided to  _walk_  to New York.

In all his glorious knowledge and wisdom, Bucky Barnes decided that it was in his best interests to walk to New York. Because he hadn't found it in him to steal a car, he couldn't fly, and he had no friends willing to pay from transportation.

And God, he  _hated_  himself for it.

It was raining, and it was cold, and he was exhausted. The pain in his shoulder had faded, but was still there. He wasn't sure how long he'd been walking. He was somewhere past Baltimore, and it had taken nearly a week to get to the outskirts of New York. He tried to stay near the roads where he could, but even then, he had to wander through long stretches of woods, and hop fences and walls. He was getting cold, and hungry, and more miserable by the second. He also knew that the longer he stayed out here, on the road, in the open, the more chance there was for something to go wrong.

That's when he saw it.

Hazard lights flashed, on and off, on and off. The yellow light illuminating the small foggy area around them. It was a car, pulled off to the side of the road. His heart began to beat faster in his chest. He ran through every scenario where this could be a trap, every scenario where he ended up dead or captured or hurt in some way. 

Steeling himself, he took a step forward, then another. If it was a HYDRA agent, they wouldn't warn him with their lights. They knew better than to warn him. Still, his hand tightened on the gun in his pocket as he approached the car. The trunk was open, and someone in a light raincoat was leaning over it. As he got closer, he made out a familiar face. Red hair that was stuck to her face, chipped nails, mouth twisted in frustration. The woman from the museum. She looked up when he approached, jumping. It took a moment, but some recognition dawned in her face.

"Break down?" he called out, still keeping his distance.

"Flat tire," she said. "I can fix it, but it's... really shitty weather."

"I can help," he said. She paused, looking like she was weighing the odds of having a strange man help her, or staying on the road for even longer. Lightning flashed, lighting up her face, and thunder rumbled in the distance. She jumped again, glancing up at the sky.

"That would be great," she said, after a moment. "Thank you."

He nodded, leaning in to help pull the tire out. It dropped on the street, and he caught it easily, rolling it over to the side of her car.

"I know you," she said, as she knelt down with him on the side of the street. "You're the man from the museum. Bucky."

"You're Cara," he said, focusing on the tire.

"Yep," she said. She seemed to know what she was doing. He wasn't sure he would be of much help here. He hadn't owned a car, even before... everything happened. His family had been too poor. Instead, he watched the steady movement of her hands, carefully memorizing everything she did.

"You heading to New York?" she said, after a few minutes.

He paused. "Brooklyn," he said, after a moment.

"You're walking there?" she said, raising an eyebrow. There was an edge of disbelief in her voice.

He shrugged. "Don't have a car."

She gave him a strange look, before turning back to tire.

"It's Hell's Kitchen for me," she said. "Apartment prices dropped after the Incident. It's the best I could do on short notice."

The Incident. When aliens invaded New York. He had read about it, back in the museum. Captain America had fought there. It had been a real shit show from what he could tell. The number of people killed said the death toll was 72, but he had seen photos of the damage. Photos of crushed buildings, overturned cars, fires. He knew death, he knew destruction. The damage had spread well beyond one or two neighborhoods. Any emergency personnel would have been stretched thin. It hadn't taken into account the aftermath. It hadn't taken into account the confusion, the violence that always,  _always_  follows disaster.

He knew death, he knew destruction, he knew casualties of war, and the number had clearly been a lie.

"Why did you need to move?" he said.

"Lost my job," she said. "Needed a new start. You?"

"I guess I lost my job too," he said. He remembered shooting one of the HYDRA scientists, before stopping himself. Before deciding he couldn't do that anymore. "Also needed a new start."

She smiled a small smile, and he went back to watching what she was doing. There was a stiltedness to her movements that made him wonder if she had done this before.

"Why New York?" she said, after a moment or two. "Why go there, of all the places?"

"I guess. I guess I grew up there," he stammered. "I haven't been back in for a while."

"Good reason," she said. "Better than mine. It might be full of aliens, and monsters, and the mob, but hey, at least I can afford an apartment, right?"

"Yeah," he said. Before he could say anything else, lightning lit up the sky, and seconds later, thunder crashed. It sounded so close, he could feel it in his chest. He flinched. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Cara do the same. 

"I hate thunder," she murmured.

He nodded in agreement, but didn't say anything else. After a few minutes, she stood up, and began rolling the old tire back. He stopped her, moving her hands away. Picking it up, he tossed it easily in the back of her car. He saw a bag or two, along with a few boxes. There wasn't much. It didn't look like someone who was moving. She closed it and looked up at him, crossing her arms.

"Thank you," she said.

"I didn't do much," he said.

"Still," she said. "I appreciate that you didn't leave me here alone."

He shrugged. "I wouldn't do that," he said, before leaning down and picking up his bag. "But right now, I think I should get going."

She nodded, slowly, looking unsure.

"See you around, Cara," he said, not looking back.

"Wait," she said, so quietly he could barely hear it.

He didn't stop.

"Bucky, wait!" she said again, louder. He turned back. Her arms were still crossed, and she looked nervous. "I can't let you walk the rest of the way. Let me give you a ride, at least to the city."

He looked at the ground. "I, um. I don't think that would be a good idea."

"Please, Bucky," she said. "The weather's shitty, and it's getting dark, and the roads are dangerous."

"Then you probably shouldn't be picking up strange men," he said.

"I can take care of myself," she said. "Please. I can't let you stay out here."

He glanced up. Her eyes were wide and sincere, and he felt something in his chest cave in.

"Okay," he said, and closed the few steps towards her car. "Just to the city."

She smiled, nodding quickly. "Just to the city."

She got in on the driver's side, starting it up. He watched her out of the corner of his eye, wondering if it was too much of a coincidence that he had found her twice. He couldn't sense anything  _off_  about her. She didn't stand like a soldier, didn't move like a killer, didn't sound like a scientist. There were no glances over her shoulder, no calculating looks. She looked at him as if he was simply another person. And that itself felt strange.

Her hands were rough, with callouses on her palms. She had a scar, just under her collar bone, from what looked like a knife, and a small tattoo on the inside of her wrist. He couldn't quite make out what it was from here. Other than that, there was nothing obvious. Nothing that should put him on edge.

But despite that, there was  _something_  about her felt familiar. There was something behind her eyes that he didn't see out in the rest of world. He had seen it in the faces of the HYDRA workers, and the faces of Steve Rogers and his friends. He saw it every time he looked in the mirror.

It was a haunted look.

"You were in the army, right?" she said, breaking him out of his train of thought. "Before this?"

He gave a short nod.

"Where were you deployed?"

He heard a mission being relayed to him, the location filled in with static. A gun was slammed down next to him, and suddenly he was firing it once, twice, and there was snow everywhere. Suddenly he was in a desert, dragging a brief case behind him. There was a small town now, somewhere in the mountains, and a woman was screaming as other armed guards pulled her from a house. He opened his mouth and no words came out. His throat suddenly felt very dry, and his vison blackened slightly. Feeling left his fingertips.

"Around," he managed.

Cara glanced at him. "I'm sorry," she said. "I shouldn't have asked."

He shook his head again. "Don't worry about it."

Her hands were wrapped loosely around the steering wheel, fingers tapping quietly. The silence that fell around them was not awkward, but not exactly comfortable either. He turned to look out the window. Lightning flashed across the dark sky. It was bright, and sudden, and so close, he could feel his hair stand on end.

He looked forward, at the road ahead. He hadn't seen a house or even another car for a few miles. The song on the radio was occasionally consumed by static, leaving him to only catch a few of the lyrics.

Rain had really begun to fall now. It made the road hard to see.

And that's when he saw it. A figure in the center of the road.

Cara barely stopped in time, and the brakes screeched. They both lurched forward, and he heard her gasp, her hand tightening on the wheel. Instinctively, Bucky's hand dropped to the gun at his side.

"Shit!" she hissed, leaning forward. There was a click as she unfastened her seatbelt.

"Stay in the car," he said, before she could move. She looked at him, as he opened his door and getting out.

"Bucky-" she started.

"Stay in the car," he said again. "I'll deal with this."

He slammed the door, catching the look on her face. She looked frustrated, and confused. Walking forward, he analyzed the figure in front of him. Young, wearing a suit, no visible weapons. His skin was pale, looking like he was made from stone. He looked so out of place here, looking just  _wrong_  against the backdrop of stormy skies and forest.

"Can I help you?" Bucky said.

"No," he said. "I don't think you can."

"Then get out of the road."

"I can't do that," he said. His eyes seemed almost red in the dull headlights of the car. When he smiled his teeth looked pointed in the dim light.

"Winter Soldier," the man said. Bucky froze, gun in hand. "Don't you recognize me? I saw you in Latveria, only a few years ago."

"I don't-" Bucky started.

"But, of course," the man said. "You wouldn't remember that. I'm surprised you're still standing, with everything they took from you. You know, memories and all that. Maybe you should ask Taskmaster there about that. He's had some experience with memory loss."

Another man stepped out of the shadows, on his left, face shadowed by a hood. A girl, a  _child_ , followed him. She had the same red eyes, and the same pointed teeth as the other man.

"Or ask Esme," the man said. "Maybe she can fill in some of the details. I mean, you  _did_  kill her. Well. Try to, at least."

He took a step back. The girl's face. He knew that face. He knew those  _eyes_ , and that  _smile_ , those  _teeth_.

_Vampires_ , he thought, or at least, that's the only word he had for them.

There had been experiments, blood drinkers, back during the war, created by HYDRA. They had preyed on allied battalions, and villages. That girl had been one of them. He remembered her.

"We don't have time for this, Bloodstorm," Taskmaster said. 

_Bloodstorm_. He knew that name, too. But it wasn't the name of a person. It was the name of something else, and he couldn't remember what.

He felt blank holes riddling his memory, leaving it tattered. The girl's face, the word Bloodstorm, even Taskmaster... He knew them, but there were things missing.

"Who are you?" Bucky said, shaking his head.

"He's other one of HYDRA's projects," the man said. "Well. Some of us, that is. It's all freelance now, though."

Before he could do or say anything, Cara cried out behind him. Bucky spun around, watching as a massive, wild-haired man dragged her out of the car. Bucky took a step forward, raising the gun, but froze when he saw the claws on the man, digging into her neck.

"Pretty girl," the new man said, nails digging into her skin. Cara flinched, desperately trying to get away. One bad move, and he would tear her throat out. He could see it in her eyes. They both knew that. "But you always did have a type, Barnes."

"Leave her alone," Bucky said, keeping his voice as level as he could. "She has nothing to do with this."

"Bucky," Cara said, desperately trying to pull off his hand.

"I don't know," the pale man said. "She knows your name. That means she a witness."

"Sabretooth, stop playing, and just get rid of the girl," Taskmaster said. He stepped forward, and his face looked skeletal. "We don't have all day."

"No," Esme said. She smiled bigger. "We'll make her one of us. Make him kill her, like he tried to kill me."

Bucky blinked, heart racing, head pounding.

"I don't... I don't -" Bucky started again, before cutting himself off.

"You don't remember," Sabretooth said. "You killed her, or tried to. Way back in the good old days. Because Captain Moral Superiority couldn't pull the trigger on a child. Not even one who killed half a squadron."

"But it didn't work," the girl said in a sing song voice. "You missed, and now I'm taking you back."

"No," Bucky said. His heart was beating so fast, his head almost spinning from the weight of the new, familiar faces around him.

Desperately, he looked at Cara, if only to see someone without any ties to his past. She was watching him, face even. She lifted her chin, staring straight at him.

_Get ready_ , she seemed to say. He saw it written in the way she held herself, in the spark in her eyes. He didn't have to wait much longer to find out what she meant.

Something glinted in Cara's hand, and moment, just a moment, Sabretooth's hold was broken. She stabbed a knife backwards, into his stomach. At the same time, she yanked his arm down, clearing her neck, and twisting away. Bucky pulled the trigger, once, then twice, catching him in shoulder, and making him stumble backwards. The second bullet hit the car behind him, puncturing the gas tank.

Bucky reached forward, and her hand, pulling her to him. He felt blood on her skin, and her shaking slightly. It was easier for him to cover them both like this. He kept the gun up. The other three had moved closer, following them as they backed up. The smiles had faded from Bloodstorm's and Esme's face. Light was beginning to manifest around Taskmaster's hands.

"Please... just let us go," Bucky said.

"Not an option, Soldier," Taskmaster said. "Did you really think you could just...  _run_  from this? That there wouldn't be a fight? You can't run away from what you did. The past is the one thing that haunts us all." 

Behind them he heard Sabretooth get back up. Cara must have heard it too, because she turned around, pressing against his back, knife in hand.

They were surrounded, and there was no backup on it's way. This wasn't something he was sure he could fight his way out of, at least not without a cost. He might be able to keep himself uninjured, but if Cara... Cara was here. The  _only_  chance they had was to escape and lose their attackers in the woods.

He glanced around at the people around them. Two vampires, who both had many weaknesses, but none he could exploit right now. An assassin, like him, but something in the back of his mind, some memory told him not to risk it. And a mutant, who he knew could heal almost instantly.

"Cara, do you trust me?" he murmured, glancing back at her over his shoulder.

"I don't think I have much of a choice right now, Bucky," she said. Despite everything, he caught the barest traces of a smile.

"Good," he said. "Duck."

She dropped down and he spun, taking a quick and careful aim at the gas tank. He knew the chances of a bullet causing a strong enough reaction was nearly impossible. He knew that, and he still took the shot.

And that's when it happened. Something that, to this day, he still cannot explain. Lightning came down from the sky, and hit the car. He barely had time to pull Cara back, before the car  _exploded_.

The force threw him back. It threw them all back. His arm collided with the hard ground, and all breath left his body. His ears were ringing. Shrapnel and broken glass flew everywhere, and he felt something sharp hit his back and leg.

He looked around. Sabretooth and Taskmaster had both been closest to the car, and seem to be almost unconscious. Esme was staring at the car in horror, but Bloodstorm, he was already rising.

Bucky shut his eyes for a moment, swallowing down the pain in his leg and back. Turning to Cara, he saw her blink at him. She said something, but he couldn't catch it through the ringing in his ears. She struggled, desperately dragging herself up, and said it again. Grabbing his arms, she tried to pull him to his feet.

"-ome on, Bucky," she was saying. "Please, Bucky, get up. We need to move."

Even as she got to her feet, she was knocked back to the ground. She hit the ground, gasping. She tried to scrambled backwards, but Bloodstorm held her in place, kneeling over her. He didn't look human anymore, with bright red eyes, and  _hatred_  and  _hunger_  that seemed to radiate off him. He was baring his teeth, clawed hands outstretched, and aiming for her face. 

Bucky threw his arm out, blocking her face. Nails tore through his jacket and screeched against metal. Cara turned to him, eyes wide with shock and confusion. He met her gaze for a moment, before grabbing Bloodstorm's shoulder, throwing him into the side of the burning car.

He scrambled to his feet, and reached for her hand. She took it, instantly, and he hauled her to her feet, sprinting away from the road, into the woods.

He didn't know how long they ran, but he did know they were being followed. After a few moments, he pulled back, between the gnarled roots of one of the trees. Cara pressed against him, and he felt her hold her breath, hand tightening in his.

He heard muffled voices, maybe fifty feet away.

"You  _lost_  them?" Taskmaster was saying.

"The rain," Sabretooth said. "None of us can track, not with the rain. And you of all people should know how good he is at hiding."

"We're not going back empty handed," Taskmaster said. "We're going to get that Kinney girl, or the Spider-woman. And he's not escaping us again."

Bucky didn't move. Seconds ticked by and turned into minutes. Finally, after nothing but the thunder overhead, he felt like he could breathe again.

Letting go of her hand, he turned to Cara. She was rubbing her neck, staring off into the forest with an empty expression.

"I think they're gone," he said.

She didn't say anything.

"Are you okay?" he said. There was something off now. She looked different than before, and he couldn't explain how. Her body language looked more natural, her motions less rehearsed, less planned. But it wasn't it good thing.

She didn't seem to realize that he was in front of her. Her breathing was uneven, gaze growing more and more distant. She still rubbing her neck, like she was trying to pull off an invisible hand. There was a haunted look on her face, one he knew all too well.

"Cara," he said. She didn't answer. "Cara, look at me, it's over."

There was no sign she even heard him, and her eyes were filling with a dull panic. Her breathing became more labored, and her movements more frantic.

"I can't breathe," she said. He could barely hear her. "I still feel his hand, I can't breathe, I can't breathe."

He gripped her shoulders, and shook her lightly. She flinched, grabbing his arm. "Cara, look at me. Look at me."

Her eyes flicked up to him.

"It's over, it's over, you're safe, and you can breathe. I'm sorry I got you into this, but for right now, I need you to breathe. Just focus on me, okay?"

Her hand slowly fell to her side. The haunted look drifted off her face.

"Hey," he said, and he managed to muster up a smile. It took every bit of strength he had left in him, but he managed to give her that. "You still with me?"

She laughed hoarsely, putting her face down into her hands for a moment, before looking back up at him.

"Yeah," she said. The smile on her face mirrored his. It was tired and grim. "Yeah. I'm still with you."

She was still shivering, soaked from mud and rain. There was blood running down her neck, from broken glass and Sabretooth's claws. Her coat was back in the car, and her skin was ice cold. He knew he didn't look much better off, and he certainly didn't feel like it. But before he knew what he was doing, before he could think about it, he was already taking off his jacket. Carefully, he draped it around her shoulders. She blinked in surprise.

"You didn't need to do that," she murmured.

He suddenly felt the urge to look anywhere but her.

"Are you hurt?" he said, ignoring her comment.

She shook her head, wrapping the jacket tighter around her shoulders. "No," she said. "No, not really. Are you?"

He thought about lying, about saying no, not really as well. But instead he simply said, "I hurt my shoulder a few days ago, and now I landed on it wrong. Something got my back and leg. Could be worse though."

She was staring at him, clearly trying to see if he was downplaying anything. He couldn't meet her gaze. After a moment, she seemed satisfied and nodded.

"Do you have somewhere safe to go?" he said. "Somewhere they can't find you?"

"The apartment," she said. "My apartment, I haven't even been there yet."

"I'll get you there," he said. "I'm sorry this happened, I'm so sorry, but I'll get you there, I promise. I promise."

And with that, Bucky Barnes found himself a new mission.

He was going to protect Cara Fox.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. i hate this chapter, i hate reading it, i hated editing it, there is stuff i like but the most part, i hate it and i'm so sorry i had to inflict it on all of you to set up a ton of things in the plot. 
> 
> 2\. It was either thor or the ghost of jack Kirby that blew up bucky barnes' car and in both cases, they were acts of divine intervention. 
> 
> 3\. A mercenary group made up of vampires sabretooth and taskmaster would be AWESOME (everyone here is a canon character-ish. Bucky really did kill a vampire girl when he was like fifteen cause cap couldn't do it, and bloodstorm one was a blade antagonist for like one issue i read when i was like 12. They're both my own interpretations, because marvel wastes their characters and concepts, but by god i'm not a coward.)
> 
> 4\. The death count higher than what they said in civil war, because Daredevil said hundreds and the russo brothers opinions mean nothing to me anymore. im free
> 
> 5\. i love you thank you for reading. i'm going to go to sleep now, it is 1 am and i am very tired.


	3. longing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It was a longing he couldn't quite place."
> 
> or; Bucky and Cara find some unexpected help, and a choice must be made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anyone else ever finish writing a chapter and then completely forget to post it

The way back to the road was long, and they were both exhausted by the time they found the pavement. Bucky had managed to stop the bleeding in his leg and back. Neither cut had been that big, but they still ached, and he moved slower than usual. Cara walked behind him, and he could feel her eyes on him, watching him. Whenever he glanced back at her, he saw a faint worry.

"You're limping," she said.

"Hurt my leg," he said, brushing off her concern easily. "It's fine."

"Bucky," she said. She reached out, touching his back, just near the gash from the shrapnel. He tensed. She froze too, but didn't move her hand. "Bucky, please you need to sit down. You're bleeding. You need to sit down."

"No," he said. "We  _need_  to keep moving. We  _need_  to get out of the rain. I'll worry about it then."

"Bucky," she started again. He pulled away sharply, turning to face her.

"You're bleeding too," he said. Her hand flew up to her neck, and she flinched. A pang of regret hit his heart, and he quickly turned away. "But the longer we stay out here, the more chance there is for something to go wrong. We need to get somewhere safe. Then I'll sit down."

"You're stubborn," she said. "Don't pass out. I won't carry you. You'll be out here on your own."

"We need to keep moving," he said again. Her hand dropped. Glancing back, he saw that her face was lined with frustration, but she didn't say anything else.

It wasn't long before it stopped raining, ending as suddenly as it began. Dark gray clouds still crowded in the sky. Bucky's clothes clung to him, and cold was slowly creeping into his bones. The aching from his shoulder bled with the sharp pain on his back and leg. The place where the muscle met metal on his arm kept jumping from shooting spasms that ran down his spine. He knew it was from the cold and from exhaustion, but there wasn't much he could do about that now.

He was tired. Tired of running, tired of hiding. That was the reason why he did not try to hide when the car approached them. He reached out, grabbing Cara's arm, and pulling her back. He turned his arm away, trying to hide the long gashes that ran down his shirt sleeve. Silver glinted beneath it. If Cara had noticed, she hadn't said anything.

It was a man. He had black hair and a shirt with six dots, each pair connect by a line, with another line down the middle. There was a girl sitting next to him, maybe thirteen, her blonde hair tied pulled back with butterfly pin. She didn't look up from the heavy textbook she was reading. It read  _Chaos Theory: Advanced and Quantum Physics_.

"Let me guess," the man behind the wheel said. "That was your car back there."

Cara paused, giving a quick nod. The man let out a low whistle. "Looks like you two got into a fight with Thor."

"Do you guys need a ride?" the girl said. She didn't look up. "We can give you a ride somewhere." 

The man glanced at her, looking a little irritated. "Layla. Please ask me,  _the driver_ , before offering to picking up hitchhikers."

"They need help," Layla said. "That's what we do right? We help people."

"I run a detective agency," he said. "Not a taxi service."

"Jamie. This is important," she said, putting her book down. Her young face was unusually serious. "Trust me."

Jamie sighed. "Do you need a ride? I guess that's what we do now."

Bucky glanced at Cara. He was just about to tell them both off, that they were fine walking, but Cara was already talking.

"Can you get us to New York?"

"Yeah," Jamie said. He paused, looking a little reserved. "We're going to Mutant Town. That won't bother you two, will it?"

There was something about the way he said it, lingering on the word  _mutant._ Like he was waiting to see their response.

Cara shook her head. "No issues here. Close enough to where I need to be."

She pulled out of his grip, and walked to the car. Bucky blinked, and quickly followed her.

"Cara," Bucky said. "Cara, what if they're with... what they're with the people we just got away from?"

"You're hurt, Bucky," she said. "You're hurt, and I'm cold and tired. You can come with me if you want, or you can stay here, but I'm... I'm tired."

She looked up at him, red hair sticking to her face, make-up smudged under her eyes. The scratches on her neck. He remembered how her shoulders had trembled beneath his hands.

He remembered what he promised her. That he would get her to where she needed to go.

She wasn't like him.

She was scared, and tired, and she was in danger, because she had offered him help. He  _owed_  it to her until she got to where she was going to keep her alive, and away from people like... Well, from people like him.

"Okay," he said. "I'll go with you. I promised I would."

He opened the door for her, and she slipped in. There was a stack of boxes in the far seat, and when he got in, he found himself pressed very closely against her. The holes in his sleeve were hidden, but Cara seemed to notice the silver glinting on his arm. She looked up at him. He stared dead ahead.

The girl turned around in her seat, and peered at them over the seat.

"I'm Layla Miller," she said. "That's Jamie Madrox. We're with X-Factor Investigations. We were picking up files from Xavier's School."

"Layla, they don't need to know our life stories," Jamie said. He glanced at them in the rearview mirror. "Sorry about her. Kids, am I right?"

"Don't be sorry," Cara said. "I'm Cara. This is Bucky."

Layla looked at Bucky. It was eerie, like she was seeing the real him. Her eyes were old, like she had seen too much.

"You don't need to worry," Layla said, talking directly to him. "We're not bad guys, or anything."

He didn't say anything. She turned back around, but not before giving Cara another look. He didn't like it. It felt like she knew something they didn't.

Jamie was watching them coolly in the front seat, not bothering to hide the fact. He murmured to Layla, telling her to text someone called Ric and let him know they were going to be a little late.

Layla did so, before turning back around in her seat.

"I'm sorry about your arm," she said, looking at him. Bucky froze. "It hurt, and that sucks. But I have a friend, his name is Nathan, and he also has a metal arm. I think you'd like him."

Cara shifted against him, blocking his arm a little more. He felt a pang of gratitude in his chest.

"Hey, Layla," Jamie said. "Nathan doesn't need everyone knowing his life story."

"What?" she said. "I'm making conversation. And it's okay. You don't have to worry, I'm not a bad guy, and Jamie's not either. Some of his dupes are, but he's not. Not like the people that chased you before. I just know stuff." '

"Layla, I swear to God, I will drop you off at the orphanage again," Jamie said. Layla turned to him, crossing her arms.

As they bickered, Bucky found himself drifting away. The single mention of the word hurt making his shoulder begin to ache. He tried to shake it, but the memories kept biting and pulling at him, dragging him down.

His hands tightened into fists, and slowly he released them. He couldn't get distracted. He had make sure they both got out of this alive. He kept an eye on the driver, and around the car, and on Cara, but it was no use.

He was back at the HYDRA base, being suited up, for his last mission. Kill Captain America. Kill the Black Widow. Kill the Falcon. Kill anyone else who got in their way. Ensure that the helicarriers got off the ground. If he did that, he would save the world. He would be done. His mission would be complete.

He had remembered them telling this him. Only knowing those words to be the truth. Only knowing those words.

He didn't remember feeling afraid. He didn't remember feeling anything. He had felt numb, cold, dead. He really had been the Winter Soldier.

Cara glanced up at him, her hand fluttering down to his arm. He flinched at her touch, but it pulling him out of the thoughts in his head.

"Hey," she said quietly. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," he said. His voice was shaking.

She kept her hand where it was. Jamie and Layla were still bickering, saying names and things he didn't understand. He glanced down at Cara. He tried not to notice how she was still shivering, even wrapped in his large coat, in the warm car. He tried not to notice that even soaking wet, hair and makeup messed up, that she was rather... pretty. He tried not to think about how after they got where they were going, he was never going to see her again.

"What's Mutant Town?" he murmured. "Why did they act so nervous?"

She blinked. "I thought you said you were from Brooklyn," she said. "Everyone around there knows what Mutant Town is."

He looked away quickly, and almost felt the heat rise to his face. "I haven't been back in a while." 

"Hey," she said. "It's alright, I didn't mean it like that. It's where most of the mutants in New York live. Especially the ones who don't look human, or have trouble controlling their powers."

Layla cut off the conversation she was having with Jamie, and turned back around in her seat. "The rest of the city hates us, and wants us dead, so we stick together."

"Yeah, that's true," Jamie said. "World sucks, doesn't it?"

"Yeah," Cara said, quietly. "Yeah, it does."

_Yeah_ , Bucky thought.  _It does._

They fell silent for a few minutes, no one saying a word. Cara had begun to lean into him slightly. She was afraid, even if she didn't want to show it. She had every right to be.

"Jamie," Cara said.

"Yeah?" he said.

"Do you mind if I borrow your phone? I need to call a friend."

"Yeah, yeah, no problem," he said, reaching into his pocket, and pulling it out. The phone case had the same design as his shirt.

"Thank you," Cara said. She reached for it, and typed in a number very quickly. He heard the faint sound of the phone ringing, before it picked up.

"Hey, it's me," Cara said, and Bucky could hear an anxious voice on the other side. He wasn't able to make out what they were saying. "Do you think you can pick me and a friend up? I wrecked my car... No, no I'm fine... No, stop, stop, you sound like you're panicking... Stop, I'm fine. I just need you to pick me up... I'll explain later... Yeah... Yeah, yeah, I hear you. Look up... Hey, Jamie? Where are we going?"

"X-Factor Investigations, in district District X," he said. "Just google it, the address is the first thing that comes up."

"You get that?" Cara asked. "Yeah. I'll see you soon. Thank you."

She hung up, and handed the phone back.

"She'll be there to pick us up," she said.

"Hey, Layla," Jamie said. "Why don't you read some of that book out loud? I need to see what the kids are into these days."

Layla started reading, listing off complex words and equations that made no sense. Cara didn't seem to be paying attention, either. Her gaze was distant.

He'd get her out of this. He had to, and then she could go back to living her safe, ordinary, old life and forget she'd ever met him.

But the more he thought about it, the more he realized that she never could. There would  _always_  be the possibility that someone would remember the woman who helped him. He knew them, and he knew their cruelty. He knew that they would use her, hurt her, kill her,  _in a heartbeat_.

She didn't know how afraid she should be.

He shouldn't have accepted her help. And he knew that she wouldn't have even offered it, if she knew who he was, who he  _really_  was. If she knew what he had done, and who would come after him. She had looked at him, and there had been such kindness there. He didn't want to lose that.

Cara didn't know who he was, and he wanted to keep it that way. He wanted to keep the horror out of her eyes, the fear, and the disgust. She shifted slightly next to him. She wasn't shivering as much now, at least.

Letting his mind clear, he focused on the pain in his leg and back. Both cuts had stopped bleeding, but still  _fucking hurt_. His shoulder was also aching. On top of it all, he was starving. He was tired. All he wanted was to sleep for several days straight (something he knew was not an option.)

Leaning his head back, he looked out the window. It was dark.

He couldn't see the stars between the clouds.

It could have been minutes, or hours, or years when they reached the city. He wasn't sure. Time felt like it didn't really exist. The only metric he knew was the beating of his heart. He heard the sound of traffic, even though it was late at night.

It took even longer to get to Mutant Town. By then, Layla had stopped reading, and was yawning. There was a noticeable shift in the environment. The buildings were run down. People walked tensely, as if ready to fight or flee at any moment. They parked in front of an old office building. The letters on the door were the only thing that looked new. The glass was cracked and dusty, and the brick cracked. Jamie got out of the car. Immediately, another one of him appeared, reaching in the back and grabbing the boxes in the back seat. Bucky jumped. He felt Cara do the same against him.

Layla turned around in her seat. "That's his power," Layla said. "He's the Multiple Man, he can make multiple versions of himself. Those are his dupes."

Bucky exchanged a look with Cara, who shrugged as they both got out of the car. Jamie's dupe walked passed, up the steps, winking at them as he did.

"Hope you guys have better luck in the future," Jamie said, as he followed the dupe in. "And if you ever need a mystery solved... You know where to find us." He grinned, and also winked

Layla paused, looking at them, holding onto her book. "You'll be good out here," she said. "Your friend, she'll be here by the time you two finish talking."

She waved at them, and stepped inside the building. Cara didn't say anything, for a moment, before she looked at him.

"Where are you going after this?" she said. "Brooklyn?"

"That was the plan," he said.

"My friend is coming by to pick us up," Cara said. "She's a little... Eccentric, but she's dependable. You can wait at my place for someone to come and pick you up, if you want."

She must have caught something on his face, because she stopped, eyes growing wide.

"I don't think anyone's around to do that," he admitted, almost reluctantly.

"Do you have family there, at least?" she said. "Or a place lined up to stay in?"

He considered lying. He considered lying, letting her think he had a home, that his family was alive, that if he went back to Brooklyn, he wouldn't just be another ghost. At the last second, he changed his mind.

"Well, you can stay with me," she said, crossing her arms. She looked so determined, he knew then that nothing he could say would change her mind. "Until you can find your own place. I have an extra room."

He blinked in surprise. "I-" he started. "I don't want to intrude-"

"On what, me sitting around by my self all day?" she said. "You saved my life back there, Bucky. I won't forget that. And I won't let you sleep on the streets."

"Cara," he said. "Cara, you don't understand-"

"That you're homeless?" she said. "No, no, I think I understand that."

"No," he said. "You have no reason to trust me."

"You saved my life," she said. For a single moment, her face was open, and he could see grief, and misery, and worst of all, empathy. She understood something about him. She understood him. Then, he blinked, and it was gone, and her face was free from all emotions again. "You saved my life, and I trust you, and I think that you need help. That's what I'm doing. I'm helping you."

Something tugged in his chest. It ran through his veins, though the veins in his right arm, and the circuits in his left. It was a longing he couldn't quite place, one that ached so deeply, he felt it press down on his heart. He knew that it had been a very,  _very_  long time since anyone had looked at him like that. With kindness, and without pity. With empathy, and without fear. And so, he did something stupid. He threw away any misgivings, any fear for his safety, and hers. He threw away any thoughts that whispered of each thing that could go wrong. He threw them all away, and look up, meeting her gaze.

"Alright," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "Thank you, Cara... Thank you."

She smiled a small smile. "No problem, Bucky," she said. "No problem." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been a rough few months, that's literally all i can say. i have a tumblr (delightsdelirium) so like if i ever Disappear again, I'd check there for like updates on why I'm being dumb
> 
> i haven't read a comic in 6 months, but if anyone wants to talk about some niche interest mutants, i'm always up for it


	4. and that was that

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Not another broken one."
> 
> or; Cara meets an old friend, while Bucky faces memories that should have stayed buried.

Layla was right. Mere moments after Cara murmured those words, she blinked, watching as a car came up. The kid really did know things.

It was a sleek red car (a model Bucky didn't recognize) that came barreling down the road. They slowed to a stop beside them, and a young woman jumped out, running over to Cara. She wore torn clothes covered in pins, and a pair of sunglasses. Her hair was a dyed red. He could see black tattoos just under the collar of her shirt, and around her right arm. Her left arm was badly scarred, from what looked like a fire. She hugged Cara the moment she reached her. Cara returned it, although there was an expression on her face that he couldn't quite read.

"Cara!" she said, leaning back and checking Cara over for any sign of injury. She took off her glasses. Her brown eyes were wide and worried. "What the hell happened? Where were you? I was worried sick, we all were. There's radio silence for  _hours_ , and right after SH-"

"Hey, Sybil," Cara said. Her eyes darted to Bucky for a moment. Sybil followed the movement, and turned around.

"Who's he?" Sybil said. She put the sunglasses back on.

"This is my friend, Bucky," she said.

Sybil stared at him, taking in his ragged, bloodstained appearance. Her eyes almost seemed to dissect him, taking apart every aspect, every secret. He shifted uncomfortably.

Cara clearly saw his discomfort, and kept talking. "He's helped me out of a bad spot. Some people attacked us on the road. He's coming with me."

Sybil spun back around. "People attacked you?" she said. "Are you hurt?"

Cara didn't say anything for a moment. "Not badly. And not... not what you think."

"Not what I think?" Sybil said. "Cara, you know what's happening? You know that... that he escaped, right? That he's out there?"

Bucky tried to understand what they were talking about. Cara's face had drained of color, and her hands had started shaking. Bucky took a small step forward, almost before he knew what he was doing.

"I know that," she said. "Of course I know that."

"You need to come back with me-"

"No!" Cara said. "No! I'm fine. I have a place. It's all set up, and it's out of the way. Bucky will be with me."

Sybil turned back around, and stared at him again. The suspicion hadn't left her face. "You trust him?" she said. Her eyes never stopped pulling at his secrets.

"Yes," Cara said. "Yes, I do."

"Okay," Sybil said, before she addressed him directly. "You're going to be going with my friend, I guess. She trusts you. And I'll let it happen... Just as long as you aren't a murderer, or a serial killer or anything. 'Cause then we'll have some real problems."

_Whoops_ , he thought drily.

"You don't have to worry about me," he said out loud.

Sybil let go of Cara, and walked back towards the car. "Alright then, good enough for me."

Bucky glanced at Cara. She walked closer to him. "You alright with this?"

He nodded mutely. 

"It's okay," she said. "You can trust her. She's gotten me out of some bad spots before."

"If you say she's good," he said. "Then I'll take your word for it."

Sybil snapped her fingers. "Hey!" she said. "Enough chit chat. Get in, losers. I owe a few people money in this neighborhood, and I don't want to get in another fist fight tonight."

Bucky glanced at Cara as she got in the passenger seat. She shrugged. Before she got all the way in, she paused.

"You okay?" she said.

He gave a stiff nod. "Yeah, I'm fine," he said. He didn't tell her that Sybil's words had made breath feel forced. He was a killer, and there would be some very real problems.

She didn't look convinced, but got in the car anyways. He slid in the seat behind her, keeping himself pressed against the door.

"We're about 20 minutes away," Cara said. She was looking back at him, before she smiled a ghost of a smile, and turned to face the front.

"So, how did you meet your mysterious, mystery man?" Sybil said, after a moment.

"At the Smithsonian," Cara said. "And then he helped me with my car."

"You met him... at a museum... and now he's following you around like some unofficial bodyguard. You are so weird, Cara," Sybil said. She looked at him in the rearview mirror. "Are you a history nerd too?"

He shrugged. "I guess you could say that," he said.

"Don't listen to her, Bucky," Cara said. "Sybil is a bioengineer, she's the biggest nerd in this car. She just hates history."

"If time travel exists, and I know that it does," Sybil said. "Then history isn't real, and I can go get drunk with Oscar Wilde and Shakespeare and Mary Shelley, or whatever, and have a nice long talk about their lives. I don't have read about theories and word-of-mouth stories."

Bucky found himself almost smiling, as she changed the subject. She talked very quickly to Cara about a bunch of people and places and things he had never heard of. As he did, their words faded to static, and he felt himself falling down, down through the depths of his mind.

He was back in another time, watching a man leave a small house, through the scope of a gun. He had been here for days. It was raining. He was tired, and he was cold. His hair hung in damp strands in his face. It wasn't as long then as it was now, but it still got in the way.

He didn't remember the man's face. But it wasn't him he was here for. Slowly he turned the gun to the window, where a woman was standing with her arms crossed.

He didn't know her. He didn't know who she was, or why she was important. He didn't know why she had to die. Just that she had to, and that it was the Winter Soldier's job to carry out that mission. He glanced down at the mission report in his hand.

Her name was Itsu, and she had to die.

There was a moment, a brief moment, as he looked at her face, that he hesitated. She looked so upset by the man leaving, so angry, and tired. She looked so human, and it was his job to end that. To take that away.

He put the rifle down, and began to walk towards the house, knife in his hand. He didn't want to see the end of his memory, even if he knew exactly how it ended. He knew she was dead because he was good at what he did, so good at it, and no one ever never survived.

He killed her.

He killed her.

He killed her.

He didn't even know that he had done it, until he was remembering it, here and now. Here, in the car. Here, under the streetlights and gray New York sky.

His breath began coming in sharp, quick succession. Every muscle was tense. His hands were balled back into fists, and he couldn't release them, couldn't lift the pressure that was slowly crushing him.

He heard Cara's voice, speaking gently, quietly, in front of him. It wasn't directed at him. Her and Sybil were having a conversation, and he caught some of her words.

_"I just... I just need to get away."_

It was a long time ago, such a long, long time ago.

He felt the cold wind on his face, as he slowly approached the door.

_He couldn't see this. He didn't want to see this._

The handle of the knife bit into his palm.

_Not here._

His hand reached for the door, the porch silent beneath his feet.

_Later. It would happen, he would see this in his dreams, he knew that, but he could not. See. It. Now._

He knew she was dead.

And then there was Cara's voice again, and she was talking to him now, voice raising. He felt himself practically latch onto it, letting it drag him out of his memories. Her hand touched his. He forced his fingers to uncurl.

"Hey, hey, Bucky," she said. "You're safe, okay? You're here, with me. Listen to me. You're here."

He stared at her, searching her face for any sign of confusion, or fear, but he found nothing. Her fingers gently brushed over his knuckles, and he dropped his gaze down to it. When he did, she jerked back, as if afraid she did something wrong.

"You can talk about it," she said.

He opened his mouth, not sure what he was going to say. He knew he couldn't tell her about the memory. She would never look at him the same way again.

"One day," he murmured finally.

She nodded, before turning back to the front. "We're going to be there soon."

He looked out the window, and caught the eye of his own reflection. It was a haunted look. He turned away, the weight of the knife and her cool touch still lingering on his hand.

The car fell into silence.

And that was that.

* * *

Carahad known Sybil for six years now. They had worked on a team, back with S.H.I.E.L.D. that had consisted of her, Sybil, their superior officer Phil Coulson, and four other members. (Two of them were now deceased. Cara didn't like to linger on that). She had known Sybil better than any of them, and she knew that Sybil, despite being barely 24, was very, very smart. She also knew that Sybil absolutely despised history, the news, and strangers. So, she knew that she wouldn't be able to connect Bucky Barnes (the Howling Commando), the metal-armed mysterious Winter Soldier from the news, and the metal-armed mysterious Bucky Barnes in the backseat.

Sybil had also picked up on the fact that name dropping the organization that had almost destroyed the world in front of strangers wasn't the best idea. She was also possibly one of the few people Cara trusted entirely.

And so, Sybil was going to be the only person who knew where she was. Her only connection to her old life.

"So, have you decided to take that job with Stark?" Sybil said, breaking her out of her thoughts.

"What?" Cara said. "Sorry... Lost in thought."

"My boss, Tony Stark offered you a job," she said. "Doing like... Security or something. Before S.H.I.E.L.D. got all fucked up."

"Oh," Cara said. "Right." She hadn't thought about the offer. She wasn't sure if it was genuine, or if Sybil had just bullied enough people to get her way.

"Are you taking it?" Sybil said. "We can be work friends again! I missed that. I missed being work friends with you."

Cara paused, before she shook her head slowly. "No. Probably not."

"What?" Sybil said. She blinked in surprise. "Why not?"

"I just don't think it's a very good idea right now," Cara said. She thought about all the cameras that surrounded the tower, waiting catch a glimpse of one of the Avengers entering the building. "I kind of need to lay low, and working for Stark wouldn't be exactly be... laying low."

"No, I get it," she said. "He's egotistical. Reporters everywhere, all the time."

Cara nodded. "Yeah. Something like that."

"So..." Sybil paused. "We won't be working buddies?"

"No," Cara said. "Probably not."

"Oh," Sybil said. Cara saw the disappointment on her face. "I just thought... I mean, I missed you. You're my friend."

She knew that Sybil was just as shaken by the S.H.I.E.L.D. revelations as she was. She also knew that Sybil was worried about her.

"You're my friend too, but-" Cara started. "I just... I just need to get away. It'll be my first time out there in the real world, since before I can remember. I need this, Sybil. I need this."

Sybil glanced at her, and she could feel herself being solved like a puzzle. "How are you not freaking out?" she said after a moment.

Cara blinked. "What do you mean?"

"It's gone," she said. "It's like, actually gone. We worked there for years, shit, Cara, you were raised there. And now it's gone. How are you not freaking out?"

"I'm not most people, Sybil," she said. She didn't admit that deep in her chest, a weight had settled. She didn't admit how scared she felt, and how aimless she was. How she had no idea what to do next.

"I know that," Sybil said. "But you could react like a normal person for once. Like I wouldn't judge you or anything."

"Why would I do that?" Cara said, and she then she grinned.

Sybil laughed slightly. It was a sad laugh, and a scared one. "You're insane, Cara. You're my friend, and you're absolutely mad."

Cara knew that. There were a thousand things she had done that could be considered insane. Including the one to take in one of the most notorious assassins in the world. Her eyes drifted to Bucky the rearview mirror. His eyes were distant, hands clenching and unclenching, breathing ragged. She turned around to face him.

"Bucky?" she said. He didn't seem to hear her, lost somewhere in his mind. Sybil glanced at her out of the corner of her eye.

"Bucky, can you hear me?" she said, reaching out to touch his hand. Something seemed to snap into place, and he slowly focused on her. "Hey, hey, Bucky. You're safe, okay? You're here, with me. Listen to me. You're here."

He simply stared at her, eyes wide, like he need to ask something. He looked down at their hands, looking confused. She moved away quickly, wondering if that had crossed a boundary.

"You can talk about it," she said. She doubted he would, but she knew she had to offer that choice.

He opened his mouth, like he was dying to tell her something. Nothing happened.

"One day," he said, so quietly, she could barely hear him.

She nodded, searching his face one last time, before turning back to the front.

"We're going to be there soon," she said.

Sybil said nothing, but Cara knew exactly what she was thinking.

_Not again, Cara. Not another broken one.  
You can't do this to yourself again._

Cara knew Sybil, and she knew what she was thinking.

But like Cara tended to do, she ignored it. She had promised that she would help him, and she would. Cara was going to help Bucky Barnes.

And that was that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> huhh so like it's been like 5 months but in my defense, my body decided that it was time for me to have Major Surgery literally the week before school started back up, which was the same weekend as my grandpa's funeral and my best friend's wedding, so like you can imagine how fun that was.   
> then the semester started and all my creative energy went into writing thinly veiled magnus archives fanfiction, cause what's the point of being in a creative fiction class if you can't force your peers to read you attempt to tackle loss and grief in increasingly horrifying ways. yeeeeehaw
> 
> also sybil is my first and best oc ever, i made her when i was literally like 6. her and oscar wilde def have drunk cried together in a bathroom
> 
> i haven't watched daredevil season 3 yet so what we've learned is that the biggest causality in infinity war was my ability to emotionally withstand any mcu property for more than 5 minutes. that sucks. 
> 
> i'm going to be real, i wrote bits of this uuuh? last year. i don't remember if whatever dumbass canon i was referencing is accurate, my memory for comics facts just isn't what it used to be.


	5. regret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "— only sparing a glance out to make sure they weren't being followed."  
> or; the past haunts, in more than one way.

Buckysoon learned to never get in a car with Cara's friend ever again. It had all been calm for most of the ride, before a silver sports car had cut them off, and Sybil absolutely lost her mind. She began to drive completely recklessly, swerving into other lanes, looking away from the road for long periods of time, shrieking at the other drivers. Cara was completely unfazed, like there was no chance of dying a violent, fiery death.

Evidently, she was used to this. Bucky certainly was not.

He comforted himself with the fact that if they crashed, his enhanced genes and training would ensure that he'd probably live. Probably.

While he thought this, clinging to the door, he heard screech something unintelligible.

"Sybil," Cara said, looking down at Sybil's phone. "I need you to take a deep breath please."

"It's how I cope," Sybil said, looking red face, hands white on the steering wheel.

"Cope with what?" Cara asked.

"Human stupidity," Sybil said. "I hate the east coast. No one knows how to use a fucking turn signal."

"Sure," Cara said, although she seemed distracted.

"You know what?" Sybil said. "I hate west coast drivers too! And the south, and the Midwest, and-"

"Pedestrians, Sybil," Cara said, not looking up.

The car screeched to a halt, narrowly missing a large group of people. "Oh my god, they are walking in the street. The street, Cara, the street! If you get hit, I am so not feeling sorry for you!"

It was a good thing they were close now. He didn't know how much longer he could last. Cara glanced back at him.

"You doing okay?" she said. He knew he probably looked white as a bone.

"I think so," he said, before looking out the window.

"Sybil really does know how to drive, believe it or not," she said.

"Oh, I should say so," Sybil snapped. "I'm a fucking expert, I've never had a single crash in my entire life. And if you two don't like it, exit my car now."

She pulled off to the side, slamming on the brakes. Both Bucky and Cara lurched forward, Cara glaring at Sybil.

"I really hate you sometimes," she said, unbuckling. Sybil didn't say anything, but snatched her phone back, reading whatever Cara had been looking at. She looked up at Cara, and suddenly looking very sad.

Cara didn't say anything, but turned around, offering Bucky a small smile. "We're here."

She climbed out before he could return it, and he followed her, catching how Sybil's gaze followed her out. Sybil looked them both over, clearing her throat.

"Need anything else?" she said, and any sign of pity was gone.

"Just the stuff on the list," Cara said. "I left it on your phone."

"Cool," Sybil said. "Bring that by later. And anything weird happens, I'm a just phone call away."

"Okay," Cara said. "Thank you."

"Right. Bye, Cara," she said. "Bucky."

Cara waved to her, as Sybil drove off, nearly killing a couple crossing the street, and leaving the two of them alone. Bucky glanced around. Their building was fairly tall, surrounded by others of equal height. Depending on what floor they were on, a sniper could get a good shot at them. The security systems didn't look too hard to crack, and that worried him. But anything would be better than living in the streets.

Cara was watching him, and quickly, he dropped his own gaze to the ground.

Her fingers gently brushed his arm.

"Come on," she said. "We'll both feel better once we get inside."

He let her lead him though the front doors, only sparing a glance out to make sure they weren't being followed.

* * *

Cara opened the door to the apartment, revealing a narrow hallway. He followed, seeing that it lead into a small kitchen with a table, and what looked like a living room, complete with a beaten up couch and television. They took a sharp right into another hall. At the end was a closed door, and there was one, closer, hanging slightly ajar. Cara pushed her way into nearest one, and he followed her.

"Here you are," she said. She stood back and let him step in. It was empty, save a bed pushed against the wall, a window in the corner, and desk to the side. One box was in the corner, and he could see the marks on the walls where pictures had hung before. There was a closet the back, with a few more empty boxes stacked in it. "Bathroom is across the hall. Kitchen has some stuff in it if you're hungry. I know we left your bag by the car... We can go to the store in a few minutes. Pick up some stuff."

"Thank you," he said quietly.

She stepped away. "I'll be down the hall if you need anything," she said.

He nodded, standing in the middle of the room. He felt her eyes trained on him, and turned around. She looked him like he was a puzzle, and, like she was trying to figure something out. As soon as she caught him looking at her, the expression was gone, replaced quickly with the carefully constructed calm that he had seen before. She gave him a small smile, before disappearing into the shadows, like a ghost.

He stood there, unsure of what to do next. He hadn't exactly thought this far ahead. He knew his job was to keep an eye on Cara. That was his first mission, his first self-assigned mission. She had helped him. She didn't have to, but she did, because she was good and she was kind. And he would not let her pay for that mistake.

He sat down on the bed. It had been awhile since he had slept on one. He didn't know if ever had, while he was with HYDRA. The name triggered a flash of pain that ranged from his fingertips in his left arm to the base of his spine. He wasn't sure if he imagined it or not. It triggered fragments of memory that cut his mind like broken glass. Falling to the ground, lying there for hours or days, he wasn't sure. But he was alone. Alone with the snow falling from the sky. Until they came and dragged him away. He remembered that much. That moment had been burned in his mind for days, and anything no matter what came before and what came after, the pain still lingered.

He stood up quickly, moving the window, driving the memory away. He could not focus on the past. It had happened, and it was over. To survive, he could not linger on what was, or what could have been.

He had to do what he did best. And that was think like a killer.

* * *

The moment Cara stepped into her own room, she immediately felt as if she was going to die.

Actually, she had felt like she was going to die from the moment she got into Sybil car, and this was the first chance she was getting to  _let_  herself feel it. She stumbled forward into the bathroom, hands shaking and stared up into the mirror. She  _looked_  about as good as she felt. Her hair was tangled, and her makeup was running down her face. Her hands were clammy, and she felt very cold.

Sybil had said that  _He_  escaped. He being... a bad guy. She had enemies, she had more than a few enemies, but she knew who Sybil was talking about. She knew that she was not safe, would never be safe, not now.

She knew that the Deathless was back. And she knew that he would be coming for her.

The Deathless was a scientist, with a penchant for cruelty, for human experimentation. He hurt people, and he didn't care. He used people like lab rats. He had hurt  _her_. And he would be coming to get her, sooner or later.

She looked back up at the mirror. Still shaking, she pushed her hair back out of her face.

"My name is Cara," she said. "My name is Cara. The year is 2014. I am 26 years old. I am in New York. I am me, and I am my own. I am me."

She gasped, sinking forward. The water ran into the sink. Reaching for it, she ran her hands beneath it, focusing on the feeling of the water running over her skin.

"I am me," she said. "I am Cara. That's me, that's my name."

She pushed all those thoughts away, pushed them away, and refused to think about her past, about her future, and instead focused on the task at hand.

She needed to focus on now. She couldn't worry about the future. There was a chance that the Deathless would just die somewhere and leave her alone. There was a chance that he had forgotten all about her. She knew there was a chance that she could live a normal life, away from S.H.I.E.L.D., away from the Deathless.

_(She knew she was lying to herself._

_She always knew what a lie felt like.)_

Looking back up into the mirror, Cara wiped off some of the dirt and make up. It didn't make her look any better.

The walls suddenly felt like they were closing in on her, and her head spun. Stumbling back, she walked back out of the bathroom, taking a few steps until the back of her knees hit the bed. She was sitting, now, but it didn't make her feel any better. Putting her head down, in her hands, she felt her neck stinging, the phantom sensation of Sabretooth's claws still there. Her side hurt from being thrown to the ground. That girl's awful smile. The smell of gasoline, and burnt rubber, and blood. Watching Bucky's face as he stared at her, looking scared for the first time. She felt herself reliving it, and then she relived earlier memories. Different fights. Different pain. Different fear. And then she relived earlier than that. More fear, more pain. And earlier, and earlier, and more, and more, and it was crushing her.

And she could. Not. Breathe.

It was a knock at the front door that finally brought her out of it. Her head snapped up. The room still spun slightly. The hallway was empty. Her mind began to race, thinking about the worst-case scenario for who could be at the door. Standing up, she walked slowly out of her bedroom, and towards the door.

A hand wrapped around her arm. She jumped, spinning around. Bucky stood behind her. Gently, he pulled her back behind the wall, raising a finger to his lips and shaking his head. His expression mirrored what she felt. Nervous apprehension.

"I'll get this," he said.

He moved to the door, metal arm extended, as the knock sounded again. Carefully, he opened it, and she saw his posture relax slight, almost instantly. He stepped back, and Cara saw Sybil, arms full of bags.

"Got your stuff!" she said cheerfully, walking in, and dropping the bags on the table. "Clothes, food, all that good stuff. Even conned Star- I mean, my boss into getting you two both a phone!"

"Thanks," Cara said. Her voice didn't sound quite right. Sybil noticed. She looked at Cara, and then at Bucky.

"You both look like you've seen a ghost," she said.

"Probably have," Cara said.

Bucky opened up his mouth, but didn't say anything.

"Well," Sybil said. "I'll let you too settle in. You both look like shit. Good night!"

And with that, Cara and Bucky were left alone again. Bucky was staring at her, silently, as if waiting for a cue for what to do. Cara shook her head and tried to focus again.

"Alright," she said, handing him a bag, after glancing in and finding a stack of t-shirts. "I think these are yours. If you don't like them, we can go out later and find more."

He took it, looking at it closely, before looking up at her. "Your friend didn't have to do this," he said quietly.

"She has a better paying job than either of us ever will," Cara said, waving her hand. "And she owes me like thirty favors. Don't worry about it."

"What does she do?" Bucky asked. "I know she's a bioengineer... but how does she get her boss to get two phones?"

Cara thought for a brief moment about telling him who she worked for, before thinking better about it. "She's does at one of the big companies in town. And she's smart. Really smart. Works directly with the founder or something."

"They make flying cars yet?" Bucky said. There was a hint of amusement on his face, like he was referencing a joke she could never understand.

"You know, I think they actually made a few," Cara said, thinking about Coulson's car. He loved that stupid thing.

" _Finally_ ," he said quietly. "You would not believe how long I've been waiting for that."

For the first time in a long time, she smiled. She truly smiled. He returned it, and something in her heart lifted. She grabbed her own bag, and stepped back down the hall to her own room. And for the first time in a long time, she was not filled with regret over her decisions. Because no matter Sybil thought, no matter what  _anyone_  thought, she had done the right thing.

She had done the right thing, and that gave her peace, if even for a moment. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's 10:30pm, i have a paper due tomorrow, and i just had an existential crisis and now i don't feel as if i understand my self in relation to my perception of the world. have a few chapters


	6. soldier, insomniac

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "But the moment night fell, he was falling with it."  
> or; nightmares (memories) bleed into the waking world

Soon after escaping from HYDRA, Bucky's memories started coming back.

Well, some of them, anyways.

He couldn't remember anything before Zola began the experiments on him, save for a few flashes here and there. Those were the ones that told him he was not born in that room, that he had truly once been James Buchanan Barnes. That he had mother (he couldn't remember her face), and sisters (he couldn't remember their names). That he had friends, and he had laughed. Those were the memories that told him he had been alive. That he had not been born repeating a stranger's name. He had had a life before, a life that had been stolen from him.

He could barely remember the rest of the war. It was a blur of gunshots, and bombs exploding, of forests, a shield, one he would later pick up, twice. Of a blonde man, who he knew to be Steve Rogers, being a hero, and saving people. There were others too, not as clear. A man from under the water. His trip to the museum had given him names, but those were all he had. And then there was him, the things he did... and he knew he wasn't a hero. He was a shadow of what he would become.

His missions with HYDRA, those memories were usually the sharpest, clearest. The horrible things that were done to him, and more importantly, the horrible things he did. Those were the ones that haunted him most clearly.

And then there was the fall.

There was always him falling.

That constant, mind numbing fear of the drop.

He had been staying with Cara for over a week now. She never forced him to talk. Often times, she just let him stay near her as she went about her day. She never minded him asking questions about how this new world worked, and sometimes, she didn't know the answers either. They would learn things together. And, God, that helped. During the day, he could fake it. Being fine, being okay, keeping memories pushed as far away from his consciousness as he could. But the moment night fell, he was falling with it.

Tonight, it was not Cara had long since gone to bed. He had seen a light under her door for about an hour, before it turned off. That's when he forced himself to go to bed, forced himself to stop pacing. That worked in theory, but once he lay down, he found that his mind could not stop racing. The bed felt too soft, compared to what he was used to (standing up in a cryo chamber, or on the ground on missions). On the off chance he dozed off for even a moment, he found himself jolting awake. Either he was sure that the scream he just heard was real, or that there truly was a ghost standing above him, or that he was falling.

Before, right after he had stolen the clothes and hid in an abandoned warehouse, he had forced himself to sleep, to catch any rest he could. People would be right on his trail, and he'd be no use sleep deprived. Frankly, he had been so exhausted, it had been easy those first few days.

But now, sleep became a harder thing to manage. It was when he had no control. It was when he was the most vulnerable. It was when he remembered.

(He had killed a couple in a car, and when he woke up, he had barely caught his scream as they stood over him, dripping with blood. They were both reaching for him, as the name Howard, Howard echoed in his mind. The drifted away into smoke before his very eyes.)

That was the last straw. He got up, after three hours of restless, war torn, bloody and painful sleep, (if you could even call it that) he got up, leaving his room, only to find Cara sitting up at the kitchen table. Her head was buried in her arms, and she didn't seem to even notice him when he walked in. Pausing in the doorway, he wondered if he should leave. She didn't look like she wanted any company. But he remembered how he felt during the day, how he felt when he talked to her. As if for a few minutes, he could forget the things clawing at the inside of his mind.

Talking a deep breath, he pulled out the chair across from her and sat down. Her head snapped up, and he saw the ways her eyes shining. If she hadn't been crying when he walked in, she had been close.

"Hey," he said. His voice didn't seem to betray anything that he had been feeling.

"Bucky," she said. Her eyes darted to the clock on the wall, before they went back to him. "It's really early."

"Yeah. Couldn't sleep," he said.

"Yeah," she said. She sighed, putting her head in her hands. "Same here."

"What's wrong?" he asked, wincing slightly as he heard how it sounded. "I mean, I don't want to press-"

"It's fine," she said, with a yawn. "Sleeping is for losers."

"I can see that," he said. She smiled. He tried to return it, but a fragment of a memory, the image of him beating in the face of killed it. It was the one that had forced him to come out here.

He stared at her, completely silent. She sighed dramatically, leaning back in her chair, and tilting her head. It was dangerous, exposing her neck like that. If she was a target, then he would be able to slip up behind her and slit her throat before she knew what hit her. The fact she had some trust in him would make it that much easier. And the fact that had analyzed how best to kill her, simply out of habit, made him feel sick. Her hair fell from around her shoulders as she stretched, the deep red standing out in the dim light. He looked away from her, at the wall, watching her sit back up in the corner of his eye.

"You okay?" she said. He didn't look at her, still feeling sick to his stomach. "Bucky."

"I'm okay," he said. He rested his head in his hand, keeping his eyes frozen on the table. His other hand, the metal one, followed along the lines on the woods. The repetitive, simple motion had a strangely calmly effect. His heart, which he hadn't realized had been beating very fast since he had gotten up, began to slow. He breathed deeply, shutting his eyes.

How was he going to keep doing this?

Could he?

Maybe the old Bucky could, or maybe the Winter Soldier could. But he was neither. He was nothing. He had no orders, no past, nothing but a self-assigned mission he wasn't even sure he could carry out. How could he protect someone else if he wasn't even sure what was happening in his own head?

A hand on his shoulder made him jump. He jumped, lashing out, catching their wrist. He blinked. Cara stared back at him, her expression even, if a little pained. He couldn't feel her pulse, even though his finger were just over ... It was his metal hand.

"Bucky?" she said cautiously. "You know it's me, right?" He didn't say anything, letting her go. She caught his hand, and looked him dead in the eye.

"You weren't answering me," she said. "I got worried. If it bothers you, I won't touch you without warning."

He blinked. "No- I just," he started, before stopping, trying to figure out what to say. "I just got lost in thought."

"You can tell me about it," she said. She looked so concerned, so earnest, he almost wanted to laugh.

"No. No, I really can't," he said. God, even if he could put everything about his past into words, would she believe him? Would she still want to help him?

She bit her lip, and nodded. "If you ever change your mind..." she said.

"I'll let you know," he said.

"Promise?"

He looked up at her, and she kept his gaze. She was still holding his hand, gently, and he knew that if he pulled away, she would let him go.

"Would you believe me if I said yes?" he asked.

"I don't know," she said. "I honestly don't. But I can hope. You're going to get through this, Bucky, and if I can help you, I will."

He looked down, almost instinctively. There was a red imprint on her wrist. He recognized the shape of his hand. He looked to where she was holding his hand, his metal hand that had almost snapped her arm.

"I hurt you," he said suddenly. His eyes widened as he realized why she had looked like that. He snatched his hand away. His stomach was dropping, his head spinning. "I grabbed your arm."

She opened her mouth to speak, but he was already at the door, chair knocked to the floor. "Bucky, no, wait-"

"I'm sorry," he said, pausing in the door, one hand braced on the frame. She stood behind him. "Shit. Cara. I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry."

"I know you didn't-" she started.

"I did it!" he said, turning around. "That was me! I hurt you, I could have broken your damn arm!"

"I don't-"

"I'm sorry," he repeated, cutting her off again. He could feel her gaze on his back, and god it made him feel even worse. She was too kind to him. She wouldn't have done anything to stop him. She had even held his hand afterward!

And if Bucky knew one thing, people like Cara, good people, they got hurt in this world. His hand tightened into a fist, and with that he fled back into the solace of his room.

**Author's Note:**

> im upset with marvel so i'm rewriting and reposting this. if you want to go read the 27 chapters that i had before they're somewhere. this is my first time posting on here in over a year, there is bound to be mistakes, i promise i will fix them


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